The doors opened slowly, creaking and groaning and Mr. Herrera, with his hand still on my arm, pulled me out. I noticed we were in a parking garage and not a torture chamber, which was a relief.
He dropped my arm when we stopped at a car. My mouth hung open a little, I wasn’t expecting what I was gazing at.
“Like it?” He asked darkly. He folded his arms and leant slightly on the car making me wince.
“Don’t lean on it,” I whispered.
He chuckled, rolling his eyes at me. “It’s mine.”
“No.”
“Do you know what it is?”
I licked my lips a little, itching to get inside this thing and see what it could do. I didn’t know a whole lot about cars but I knew a bit about this one in particular, I had read about it in one of my dad’s old car magazines.
“It’s a 1965 Mustang GT Fastback.” His eye
